. . . of the whiskey sour fountain, the processed roast beef, the gargantuan plastic bowls of potato chips and pretzels, draft National Boh (or Pabst Blue Ribbon) and finally the Pièce de résistance, the sloe gin fizz. Yes, the sloe gin fizz; that bright red, sweet, satisfying concoction with a kick; at least for an adolescent. Yes, gloriously my entry into the world of 'professional' music was accompanied by an introduction to alcohol. (I am reminded of the Barenaked Ladies song, ALCOHOL.) In those days, the local, legal drinking age was 18, which I was not quite yet, and the practice of requiring ID before serving alcohol was not widespread and certainly not commonplace inside the doors of catering halls. Not that I was inebriated every time we played, though I may have, on occasion, consumed enough to mildly affect my performance abilities. But that was rare.
The band, now know as REFLECTION, was the 'house' band at the Harbor Inn. This meant that when the firm contracted for a wedding reception, bull roast, dance or bar mitzvah (the Jewish population had mostly abandoned East Baltimore for the Pikesville area by then), management offered the services of the fine young combo REFLECTION for music at the affair. This meant relatively regular work for the band and as a byproduct of that, an opportunity to refine our performance. In addition to the Harbor Inn, we were able to accept work at other, similar venues which meant I was actually earning money; earning money for doing something that I loved. It doesn't get much better than that. . . or DOES IT?
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